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Kirishima once read somewhere that although alphas are widely considered the, well, alphas of the household and society and all that, it’s really the omegas who are in charge behind the scenes. And how, from a biological standpoint, alphas seem to be built not only to crave but also to need their omega’s happiness. How alphas themselves don’t even know true happiness without the love of an omega.
The article was an interesting read, but honestly, Kirishima’s never really put much importance into that sort of stuff. Alpha, beta, or omega, who cares? They’re called secondary sex characteristics exactly because they’re secondary, is how he thinks of it. The things that really matter, like courage, strength, perseverance, integrity, goodness of the heart: that’s the stuff that’s actually important, and those are all entirely removed from something as superficial as gender.
And yet, after a long, crappy day at work, when he opens the door to his apartment and feels the knot in his chest loosen, the pressure in his temples lighten, just from the scent of his mate...he begins to wonder if maybe that article was on to something.
Sometimes, he has days like this, where he wakes up feeling not-so-great for no reason that comes to mind. Little things like the brusqueness of his boss or thanklessness of civilians or even how the supermarket’s sold out of his favorite onigiri only weigh him down further. They're regular things he’d normally take in stride, tiny blips in his life of fulfillment. But it piles up, and by the time he’s home, he just wants to lie in bed. Not even to sleep, because he can’t fall asleep so early, but just to lie there and maybe have a bit of a self-pity session. He’s not depressed, or anxious, or anything serious like that. Usually, he’ll be fine within the next couple of days, and it’s no big deal. But it happens.
As the front door closes behind him, Kirishima reflexively takes a breath to greet Bakugou, but he finds that he’s lacking the motivation to do even that. So he toes off his sneakers, drops the bag containing his dirty costume on the floor, and pads his way towards the kitchen.
Bakugou’s back is to him and he’s stirring what smells like a pot of his infamously spicy curry. He spares a glance over his shoulder at Kirishima. “Hey. Good timing, dinner’ll be done soon.”
Kirishima grunts and shuffles forward, burying his face in Bakugou’s neck. Here, his scent is the strongest, clean and sharp but soft, enveloping Kirishima like the world’s fluffiest blanket. He sighs, pressing his lips against the scent gland and wrapping his arms around Bakugou’s waist, squishing himself against Bakugou’s back.
“The fuck’s up with you,” Bakugou mutters, but leans back into him. “Something happen today?”
Kirishima shakes his head, and Bakugou hums a little. The redhead knows his mate understands. He noses his way down Bakugou’s neck until he reaches the collar of the cream sweater, one of the blond’s favorites during winter. He’s never said it in so many words, but it’s always his first choice when the temperature begins to dip. Not to toot his own horn, but Kirishima’s super proud of himself for picking it out, especially with how much Bakugou disses his fashion sense. Though Bakugou looks good in anything...what with his gorgeous face, strong shoulders, buff arms, slim waist, tight ass and long legs—
“Hey, shithead, stop zoning out and go set the table or something.”
Kirishima pouts, pushing out his bottom lip so Bakugou can feel it against his skin. He hugs him tighter. Bakugou lets out a puff of air through his nose. “What, you in clingy mode today? Fuckin’ useless.” Kirishima bites him on the neck in retaliation. Lightly though, so he doesn’t leave a mark.
Bakugou sighs loudly, but he proceeds to set the table himself and doesn’t threaten to not buy Kirishima pudding for the rest of the week like he would if Kirishima was just being lazy, and Kirishima is so grateful to have a mate who gets his moods.
They usually eat at the dining table, but today, Bakugou brings everything to the kotatsu in the living room, still valiantly dragging half of Kirishima's weight along. He turns on the TV, flipping to a variety show that Kirishima loves and Bakugou claims is “the fucking stupidest shit ever” but watches with him most of the time.
Kirishima finally finds it in himself to let go and digs in, not even realizing until now how hungry he is. He robotically brings the spoon to his mouth, half paying attention to the show and half zoning out, but he’s broken out of his reverie when Bakugou says, “Some kid asked me for your autograph today.” Kirishima turns to blink at him, but Bakugou's busy glaring at the TV. “What am I, your keeper or some shit?” he continues. “Do I look like I have your autographs on me while I’m saving useless civilians? Idiots.”
Kirishima’s lips curve up, unbidden. Bakugou turns to him, his glare softening just a fraction. “It’s ‘cause they know we see each other every day,” Kirishima mumbles.
“Yeah, but that still doesn’t make any sense,” Bakugou gripes. “And what’s the point of getting an autograph from you if you’re not personally signing it for them.”
Kirishima shrugs. “Better than nothing.”
“Whatever.” Bakugou shoves a spoonful of his extra spicy curry into his mouth, making a show of being annoyed. Kirishima goes back to eating his own much milder dish, scooting closer to Bakugou and relishing the heat of their thighs pressed together. The blond squints at him, chewing angrily.
A moment later, he says, “Saw Pikachu today. He was spouting shit about this new fantasy game that just came out.” Kirishima makes an inquisitive noise. “The type you like, with the good graphics and boring combat.” Bakugou pauses. “You can fly.”
Kirishima swallows a little too quickly. “You mean we get wings? Like, the really nice angel ones?”
“Yeah.” Bakugou keeps his eyes pointedly on the TV. “We could...play it together. If you want.”
No exaggeration, Kirishima feels like he could probably cry out of happiness right now. The games he likes to play are the ones about world exploration and building your own village and catching the most badass monster to be your pet—fantasy life, without the blood and violence. Because he gets enough of that in real life. And Bakugou doesn’t game much, but when he does, it’s always the type with max blood and violence, so the fact that he’s offering to play together...
“For real?” The puppy dog eyes come out without any effort. “You can’t back out halfway through.”
“Like hell I’d back out,” Bakugou scoffs. “I don’t do things half-assed.”
An explosion of warmth goes off in Kirishima's chest. He grabs Bakugou’s hands in his. “Marry me.”
Bakugou rolls his eyes, but his mouth slides into a smirk, lazy and triumphant. “We’re already married, idiot.”
“I mean in-game, too. We get benefits, y’know.” Kirishima presses closer, so that their noses are almost touching. “If you marry anyone else in game, I will send a support ticket to the game company demanding an annulment.”
“Who the fuck else would I even marry,” Bakugou deadpans. Then his brows furrow as realization dawns in his eyes. He snatches his hands out of Kirishima’s. “Have you been fucking marrying other people in your games for the benefits?!”
A chill of true terror races up Kirishima's spine and he leans back, hands up in surrender. “Um. Only sometimes, if they're, like, super good! Like this one time we got—”
“Who,” Bakugou hisses through his teeth. “Some random extra?”
“K-Kaminari...” Kirishima squeaks.
Bakugou leaps to his feet, rage in his eyes and hands sparking. “YOU’VE BEEN FUCKING MARRYING DUNCE-FACE IN YOUR STUPID GAMES THIS WHOLE TIME, WHAT THE FUCK, KIRISHIMA, PREPARE TO DIE, YOU CHEATING SON OF A—”
“Mercy, Katsuki!” Kirishima cries, squeezing his eyes shut. “It was just for the legendary weapon, it glowed red, I couldn’t not marry him—”
“I’M GONNA KILL HIM AND THEN YOU AND YOU’LL GET ‘BETRAYED MY MATE FOR IMAGINARY SWORD’ ON YOUR GODDAMN HEADSTONE—”
Kirishima leaps up and drags Bakugou into a hug, hardening his arms and shoulders. Bakugou struggles against him, explosions bursting everywhere, growling curses and repeatedly kicking Kirishima in the shin. It hurts, the move unexpected but also oddly humorous (what sort of pro hero attacks by kicking people in the shin), and also very Bakugou, because of course he knew Kirishima wouldn’t bother hardening his legs. Endeared, he plants a wet kiss on Bakugou’s mouth. “I love you and only you, Katsuki! I’m sorry I was a slut for a shiny sword!”
Bakugou glares at him with the heat of a thousand suns, palms still up and going off like tiny, hot fireworks. Man, he’s so cute. Kirishima sort of wants to take a picture. But Bakugou would kill him, so he conveys his affection by kissing him again, then again, unable to resist those soft lips, tasting the leftover spice from his curry.
Bakugou begins to slowly relax against him, stubbornly refusing to kiss back but gradually lowering his arms. Kirishima feels a laugh bubbling up from his chest. He purses his lips to keep it down because right now would absolutely not be a good time to laugh.
“Do it again and I’ll fuckin’ destroy you,” Bakugou mutters, before pressing his lips hard against Kirishima’s, tongue sliding hot and brazen into his mouth.
Kirishima’s smile grows until he accidentally breaks the kiss. “Love you,” he murmurs, admiring Bakugou’s adorable perky nose and long, blond lashes. And his sharp cheekbones and molten red eyes. God, he’s stunning. How did Kirishima get so lucky?
Bakugou clicks his tongue, then kisses him one last time. “I know, moron. Now finish the rest of your dinner before it gets cold.”
“Yes, sir.”
Usually, it’s Kirishima’s job to do the dishes if Bakugou cooks, but today, he's waved away and told to go download his game. Half an hour later, Kirishima’s on his PC, killing himself over which exact shade of red to make his hair, and Bakugou’s on his laptop, screaming at him to “create your character in the next five seconds or I’ll do it for you, shithead!”
They play for a bit, and Kirishima’s having the time of his freaking life. The game world is absolutely beautiful, a cozy, snow-covered village with mountains in the far distance that they’ll get to explore eventually, forests filled with hibernating creatures, a frozen pond to skate on, little critters skittering about for them to catch. Bakugou fights and defeats some alligator he found wandering around and makes it his steed.
A couple hours later, Kaminari joins them on his overleveled ranger with sparkling golden wings and a really badass crossbow that he customized to have a black lightning bolt on the side. Bakugou thrashes him over skype for daring to marry what’s his and Kirishima can’t even defend the poor guy because he’s too busy laughing (and secretly being delighted by Bakugou’s possessiveness).
Before he knows it, Kirishima can’t even remember why he was upset anymore.
The floor is cold against his clean feet, and he’s glad he listened to Bakugou and blow-dried his hair because he’d definitely be freezing right now if he didn’t. As it is, he still shivers his way to the bedroom, rubbing his bare upper arms to generate some warmth. He considers changing into a long-sleeved shirt, but knows he’ll get too hot as he sleeps, and sleeping without smothering Bakugou with his body isn’t an option.
Bakugou complains loudly when Kirishima dives under the covers and tries to sneak an icy hand on his toasty skin. The blond, knowing his antics too well, dodges and smacks at him instead. Kirishima gives up and crawls his way up the bed, head popping up beside Bakugou’s hip, who’s sitting against the headboard reading the news on his phone. He grabs his own phone off the nightstand and wiggles into place, resting his ear against his husband's warm side.
Bakugou grumbles at him for a bit but drops one hand on Kirishima’s head, fingers combing slowly through his bangs. Kirishima sighs in contentment and snuggles closer.
Moments pass in companionable silence until Bakugou interrupts the redhead’s Twitter-scrolling with a gruff, “Did your management say something to you today?”
Kirishima’s shoulders droop a little at the reminder of his blunder. “Mm. Kinda.”
Bakugou’s fingers gently sweep the hair out of his eyes, then go on to stroke along his eyebrows. “’Bout what?”
“Nothing much,” Kirishima exhales. “Just the usual, you know, property damage stuff.”
“D’you crush some big shot’s car or somethin’?”
Kirishima winces. “Nah, I think someone filed a complaint about road damage. A civilian, probably.”
“What the fuck?” Bakugou sits up higher, giving up on the pretense of looking at his phone and chucking it somewhere on the bed. “Do none of those assholes know how your quirk works? You save their lives and they’re complaining about some shitty potholes?”
Kirishima shrugs. “It’s fine, Katsuki. I’m not mad about it or anything.” And it’s true; he isn’t. These things happen in the life of a hero, and the number of grateful civilians far outweighs the number of unappreciative ones. Not to mention, it's also true that everyone would benefit from him causing less road damage. “I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something.”
Bakugou is quiet for a minute, but he eventually slides down until he's level with Kirishima. He takes the alpha’s phone and flings that somewhere too, his scowly expression shoved right in Kirishima’s face.
“My manager signed me up for a property damage workshop this Saturday,” he announces, like it's something to be proud of. “You can come with me. We’ll show them who’s the best at not-damaging shit.”
Kirishima’s mouth falls open because one, he doesn’t remember Bakugou telling him he got another strike for property damage, and two, what the hell even?
“And,” Bakugou continues, chin jutting out. “After the workshop, I get the rest of the weekend off.”
Kirishima’s eyes widen as excitement blooms in his chest. “You do? I get the weekend off too!”
“I know, dumbass.” Bakugou smirks. “That new yakiniku place you've been drooling over, let’s go.”
Kirishima smiles so hard his cheeks hurt. He flutters his eyelashes. “Are you asking me out on a date? How forward.”
“Right, yeah, I’m such a sinner, asking my husband out on a date.” Bakugou rolls his eyes. “You’d think I was flashing my goddamn ankles.”
“Ooohh~” Kirishima giggles, biting his bottom lip. “Kinky. I like it.”
“You’re fucking disgusting,” Bakugou tells him, shoving a sweet-smelling palm against his face. “And it’s not a date. It’s a cheer-Kirishima-the-fuck-up outing.”
Kirishima’s smile softens. He takes Bakugou’s hand in his, then leans in to peck the blond on the nose. “Y’know, I’m grateful, but you don’t have to go out of your way to...I dunno. Work around my mood? I mean. It’s something that just happens.”
“Fucker.” Bakugou glares, lips slipping into what Kirishima secretly labels a pout but would never admit so under the threat of death. “I don't do anything I don't want to. I’m taking you out on a shitty date because I fuckin’ want to. That a problem?”
Kirishima presses his lips together, desperately trying not to grin too wide. “I thought you said it wasn’t a date.”
Bakugou groans loudly and rips his hand out of Kirishima’s grip, then flips over to his other side, making the bed bounce. “Aww, babe,” Kirishima teases, scooting over and pressing his chest to Bakugou’s back, arms slithering around his stomach. “Since it’s a date, does that mean we can get a movie before dinner? OH! How about Aquaman? You know I’ve been totally dying to see it, right?”
Bakugou harrumphs. “Fine, asshat. We have the whole evening and Sunday to do whatever, anyway.”
“Mmm, you’re right.” Kirishima presses a kiss under Bakugou’s ear. “Love you, Katsuki. And thanks.”
Bakugou grunts and wedges himself tightly against Kirishima’s chest, then rests his arms over his mate’s. “Sleep, Eijirou.”
Kirishima nuzzles his soft, poofy hair. “But I’m not sleepy.”
“Well, fuck you, ‘cause I am.”
“We haven’t even turned the lights off yet.”
“Then go turn them off, what the fuck.”
“You know, I read something in the newspaper the other day. It was about...” Kirishima furrows his brows. “Okay, honestly, I can’t really remember, but it said something about how an alpha’s true happiness is their omega.”
Bakugou clicks his tongue. “So what.”
“I dunno,” Kirishima says sheepishly, suddenly feeling nervous. “I was just...um...”
Bakugou turns to face him, expressionless but for the pink beginning to creep into his cheeks. “If you say anything as sappy as ‘you’re my true happiness,’ I swear I will castrate you right now. With my bare hands.”
Kirishima averts his gaze, trying to wipe his sweaty hands discreetly on the covers. “But, I mean...you kinda are.” He squeezes his eyes shut and hardens up, but to his pleasant surprise, no explosions come flying at his head. Or crotch. When he dares to peek an eye open, he’s met with Bakugou’s red face, but rather than enraged, he looks like he’s rolling something around in his mind.
“Or maybe,” Bakugou says smugly, smirk slashing across his face. “It doesn’t have anything to do with being alpha or omega. You’re just that head over heels for me.”
Kirishima swallows. “Well...you're not wrong.”
Bakugou barks out a laugh, eyes slitting into crescents. Kirishima only has a millisecond to admire it before he’s shoved on to his back and a leg is thrown over his middle. Bakugou sits up and straddles him, the covers pooling around his waist. His grin glints in the dim lighting of their bedside lamps.
“Wanna fuck,” he asks, one hand reaching back to the nape of his own shirt, an eyebrow raised suggestively. Kirishima doesn’t even know why he’s asking, because when is Kirishima not dtf??? With a husband as amazingly gorgeous as his???
“Yes,” he squeaks, voice breaking.
Bakugou leans down, eyes lidded, and swipes his tongue over the shell of Kirishima’s ear. “I’ll suck all of your stress out from your dick,” he growls.
Kirishima almost passes out from how fast his blood rushes south.